Wait For Me
by meetmeinstlouie
Summary: Richobel, modern AU. A companion to my Chelsie fic, First Kiss. Richard Clarkson hopes one day to become a doctor. While at Downton School, he finds himself falling for the school nurse, Isobel Crawley. But she couldn't possibly feel the same - could she? Anything could happen after graduation...


**A/N: Hi there. Well, how to describe this fic? First, it's Richobel. And modern AU. So completely non-canon here. It is a companion to my Chelsie fic** _ **First Kiss**_ **, so it's canon for** _ **that**_ **universe. If you haven't read that fic, you need to. It's necessary to understand the background of this story.**

 **I hope it's not too confusing using "Present Day" at the beginning and at the end, given that the setting is in February and as I write this it's July. Basically the present time for the story is at the beginning and at the end, with flashbacks in the middle.**

 **I do not condone or excuse illicit behavior between adults who are authority figures (such as teachers) and minors they are responsible for (such as students). I've been very careful to lay out the timeline of this story, and I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea. That being said, there are at least two different situations from my real life where I have known people in similar circumstances that Richard and Isobel find themselves. Nothing illegal was done.**

 **Bearing in mind the different setting, I hope I haven't done any disrespect to either of the main characters. Both Isobel Crawley and Dr. Clarkson are two of my favorites in canon. And yes, the M rating is justified. Those of you who read my M stuff know that I tend to make you all wait for the end of a chapter for the hot stuff. This, er, isn't like that. You have been WARNED.**

 **The Abba song lyrics referenced are from "Lay All Your Love On Me".**

 **The credit (or the blame, depending on your view after you read) for this fic is given to two people – ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, who asked me to finish First Kiss, and is getting this because the idea took over my brain. Other characters demanded their story be told, too.**

 **And Ericajanebarry, who is a fantastic Richobel writer. She inspired me through many of her fics. She gave me permission to use a couple of endearments that Richard calls Isobel in her stories, so I thank her very much for that. She really is a wonderful storyteller with these two. Go read her stuff, and review it, if you haven't already. (Erica, I hope you don't think I've made too much of a mess in the sandbox.)**

 **Okay, I'll shut up now and let you all read this. If you have time, please leave me a review no matter what you think.**

 **Here's to ships that are truly unsinkable!**

* * *

 _ **Present day**_

Clouds hang low over the old city of Edinburgh. On this February night, the cold seeps almost everywhere. The wintry air is biting. Raw.

Condensation runs down a window in a block of flats.

The couple lays sprawled, spooned against each other, breathing hard. Her dark hair is spread out on the pillow and against his face. He moves his head, his chin tucked over her shoulder. Even though she doesn't move, he tightens his arms around her and pulls her closer to him, her back against his chest.

He cannot believe she is his. _Finally_. He kisses her shoulder, thrilling at her contented sigh.

She feels his heart beating through her back. It feels both odd and reassuring.

A smile won't leave her face, and she hopes the giggles inside her will stay there, because the last thing she wants is to make him feel as though she's laughing at him. Because she isn't.

Effervescent joy threatens to overwhelm her.

"Are you-are you all right?" he asks, his breath still short. Her heart clenches at his care for her. Tears well in her eyes as she thinks, she _knows_ , after all this time that she was right. That he _is_ different, that what she feels for him and what he feels for her was meant to be, and that somewhere deep inside, they both knew it all along.

Knew that they, and this moment, were worth waiting for.

"Yes," she whispers. She turns over to face him. She does laugh a little then, only at the blond hair flopped in his eyes that he hasn't bothered to brush aside. She does so, keeping her fingers on his face. Touching him without restraint is such a gift.

After they have had to wait for such a long time.

His eyes gaze into hers. He is unaware how intense it is, his bright blue eyes taking all of her in. The brilliant smile she wears, one that she wears only for him. The way her neck curves into her shoulder. How she isn't shy, and doesn't cover herself, leaving her breasts and torso bare for him to admire again. Her lips move.

"Hmmm?" he murmurs. Laughing again, she repeats herself.

"Are _you_ all right?"

He's suddenly aware he has a gigantic smile on his face by the way mirth lights up her face. Playfully, he pulls her into him, bumping her shoulder against his chin, but he doesn't care. "How could I _not_ be all right after that?" he teases. "I'm fine. More than fine, my beauty." Brushing his fingers along her spine, he kisses her.

"You need to shave," she breathes against his mouth. She runs her thumb above his upper lip. "Unless you want a proper mustache." She thinks now it was rather lucky his stubble didn't scratch her. The memory of his mouth on her makes her shiver.

"Would you like that?" He traps her trailing thumb at the corner of his mouth, kissing it. He'd like to grow out a mustache, but knows if she doesn't like it, he won't bother.

"I'm not sure," she leans on her elbow. "But I say, try it. You've never had one before. I might like it once it's softer, and not just stubble."

She kisses him again, deep and slow. He feels his body responding. The rush of knowing that she wants him, has longed for him like he longed for her, is something he doubts he will ever get tired of.

"Do you-" he doesn't finish his question, but there's no need. She nods, her eyes even darker, and he smooths his hand along her thigh, pulling her leg around his hip. Both of them gasp at the sensation.

This is all so new. He just wants to make sure he isn't forcing her to do anything she doesn't want to do. She feels the same.

Before he loses himself in her once again, he hears her sigh his name.

"Richard," she gasps, in between ever-more heated kisses, "Richard, touch me again, don't stop-"

He rolls her over gently onto her back. For the second time he enters her, and the sensation is no less sweet than the first. Even more so.

She makes a sound he's never heard before, a high-pitched sigh. She drops her arms from around his neck onto the pillow, and her hands are limp, open, her fingers curled above her head. He thrusts again, continuing a steady rhythm and a sigh bubbles out of her mouth again.

Louder.

Her dark eyes are wild as she arches her back to meet him. He lets out a groan.

"Bel," he pants, his body shaking, "Come for me."

She sighs, whimpers again even higher, nearer a scream, and he _feels_ it. The tightening of her body around him, the contraction of her sex drawing him in. He speeds up instinctively, falling forward to bring them ever closer.

He is right against her, his shoulder half blocking her mouth, but she hardly notices. Only how good he feels, how good _they_ feel together, his relentless thrusting into her, sometimes slower, then speeding up, continuously soothing the ache of pleasure while simultaneously drawing it out.

She's going mad beneath him. She never dreamed it would be like this. Could _be_ like this. She comes once, words and high screams mixed together in an incomprehensible sound. Her keening abates a little as she draws a few ragged breaths. And yet he continues to move and she rocks her hips forward, not wanting to stop either. He thrusts just as she does, and the sensation makes her throw her head back.

 _Incredible_ , he thinks as she keens ever louder and he slams into her. _She's coming_ _again_ _, for ME, oh God she's everything-_

He thinks he might pass out from the sheer pleasure of her. Her breasts against his chest, her legs wrapped around his hips. Her sex pulsing around his manhood until he sees stars.

She has always been self-contained. Direct, realistic, able to see the world as it is. Being in the medical profession, it is essential to process what _is_ , not what one wishes life to be. She knows Richard has the same worldview. It is one of the things that drew them together.

But what draws them together now is so wholly alien to the clinical world in which they both live (she in her job as a school nurse, he as a medical student), that for the first time they both find themselves tethered not by their heads, but by their hearts.

They are simply a man and woman in the act of love, reason gone out the window. All is fire and feeling, blurred colors and passion, the wild song of shared pleasure.

She comes and comes and comes again, her voice hoarse. "My _God_ ," she moans, "oh my _god_ , Richard, don't stop, yes, yes, yes, _yes_ -"

The words are lost inside the tight, high spiraling of her voice.

She knows they must stop at some point, that he can't hold on forever, but it feels so good part of her wishes it would never end.

She is all he has ever wanted. Isobel, his Bel. _My bella donna,_ _my beautiful woman._ He cries out, his voice loud in the room, before he thrusts hard inside her the last time, joining them, holding them together. Holding her in his arms while she holds him.

For a long time neither speaks in words. Gasping, they share tender caresses and kisses as their heartbeats slow, their skin glistening. Her hair is damp, and a bead of sweat runs down the side of his face. She wipes it away.

When she stumbles back to bed after visiting the loo on extremely wobbly legs, he's almost asleep. Sated.

"I love you," he mumbles, his beautiful eyes fluttering open.

"I love you too," her voice cracks, tucking herself back into his arms. He doesn't miss the gleam of an unshed tear in her eyes. He feels the same emotion she does.

This is all they ever wanted. A chance to share their love.

As he drifts off, he thinks he has never really liked his name, but he loves hearing it from her.

She hears his breathing deepen into slumber. It is very late, and she's been awake for going on twenty hours, but her body is thrumming.

 _What_ _would_ _have been enough for you?_

Their passionate lovemaking is much more than she thought they would enjoy in one night.

She has never felt more loved, or more alive.

Wondering if she'll be able to sleep at all, she goes over mundane details in her mind. Things that she'll have to do later.

Thinking about the next week when she'll be back at Downton, she shudders in a silent laugh.

 _Elsie is a good friend, but she won't hear about what we did during the half-term break. At least not for a few years._

Eventually, a blissful sleep overtakes her, and she rests in the arms of the man who she loves. The man who loves her, and always has.

* * *

 _ **Do you ever think when you're all alone**_

 _ **All that we could be, where this thing could go?**_

 _ **Am I crazy or falling in love?**_

 _ **Is it really just another crush?**_

 _ **Do you catch a breath when I look at you?**_

 _ **Are you holding back like the way I do?**_

' _ **Cause I've tried and tried to walk away**_

 _ **But I know this crush ain't going away…**_

 _ **-David Archuleta, "Crush"**_

* * *

 _ **Three years previously**_

The morning assembly is finished, and she walks back into the infirmary afterwards. She shivers coming down the main hall. Even being inside, there is no escaping the late February chill.

"How are you feeling, Natalie?" she asks the fourth-year girl who's stayed overnight there. She appraises the student while taking her temperature. _Her color is better. Not as pale as last night._

"Better, I think," Natalie says. "I'm hungry."

Isobel smiles. "Well, that's a good sign. It doesn't look like anything more than a twenty-four hour fever, but I'll keep you here this morning, just to be certain."

After getting the girl some breakfast from the kitchen, she sits down in her small office. It's crowded, with her desk, two chairs, and the examination table squeezed in. She could go back to the main office two doors down and sit at her desk there, but she'd rather keep an eye on her charge for a while. And looking over her schedule for the day, it makes more sense for her to stay in the infirmary.

She sighs. _I enjoy sport, and am glad the students are required to be active, but some of them take it_ _ **much**_ _too seriously._

Downton is known for its cricket team, and the coach and captains have always had their returning teammates come in for physicals before beginning winter training. Never mind that all students had them before starting school in the autumn.

She finds it redundant to conduct physicals on students that are perfectly healthy. Still, she has no choice but to go along with it. Violet had told her to humor the coach. "A tiny headache now is worth more than a large one later," she'd said at dinner the night before. "Choose your battles wisely."

Whistling under her breath, Isobel scans the list of students due to come in this morning. _Joseph Molesley_ , fourth year. A shy boy, sometimes bullied, but with a hidden strength. _Charles Carson,_ fifth year. Smiling, she taps his name. A born leader who looks more imposing than he really is. He's mad about cricket, almost as much as he is about Alice Neal. If he isn't named as cricket captain this year, it will be a shock.

 _Richard Clarkson,_ fifth year.

Her heart beats a little faster.

 _Best not to think about him._

She sips her tea too fast, and burns her tongue, making her eyes water with pain.

Joe bounces in, his wispy hair stuck to his forehead. She takes his blood pressure and other vitals while he natters on about how excited he is to join the team. Politely, she asks him how long he's been playing but regrets it when he goes full bore into his life story, how his father taught him, and on and on. With a little difficulty, she reminds him of his next class. He thanks her as he leaves.

As least he's well behaved. Not all of the students are.

She is twenty-four years old and is fully aware of the raging hormones of teenagers. As one of the youngest on staff (except for the girls' netball coach, Mr. Foster), she's used to sometimes catching a student staring, or seeing the occasional blush.

Twice since she's been at the school, she has had to take students to the Headmistress to be disciplined for improper behavior. One was for a lewd comment, spoken in an undertone by a recalcitrant Charlie Grigg. The other was more serious, when Alex Green dared to pinch her bum when he left her office.

Thankfully, none of the students she's scheduled to see this morning are anything to worry about.

She's got one earbud in, Abba singing in her ear, when Richard Clarkson knocks on the door and enters.

"Come in," she says, gesturing to the examination table. She sets aside her phone and stands up. "How are you today?" He drops his bag and sits on the edge of the table.

"Fine," he stares at the floor, clutching the sides of the table as if he's afraid he'll fall off.

"Relax," she says, as she fits the cuff around his arm. "You've done this a hundred times before."

He lets out a breath and smiles. She wonders at how _blue_ his eyes are. "I know. I've got a lot on my mind, that's all."

She has heard his distinctive Scottish burr before, but it's the first time her heart skips while hearing it.

 _Focus._

"Lots of homework?" she asks, pumping the cuff as it squeezes his arm.

His face flushes pink, his paler complexion not hiding anything. "Not really. I don't know." He's quiet while she finishes checking his blood pressure. More quiet than usual.

"Well, whatever it is, it's giving you higher blood pressure," she says, removing the stethoscope's earbuds. "Higher than last year's exam. Lean forward a bit, and let's listen to your heartbeat."

She sets the round disk against his chest first, then on his back, directing him to take deep breaths. It doesn't do much good to calm him. His heart is pounding like he's run all the way from the main hall.

" _Relax_ ," she presses the tips of her fingers on his back quickly, before letting her hand drop away. She tells it to herself as much as she says it to him.

"Sorry. I'm trying."

She's glad he can't hear _her_ heartbeat. "I know you are. Stress can make it very difficult to relax."

"I shouldn't be stressed," he says, blowing out a breath, agitated. "We just got back from half-term break. I had a great time!"

"What did you do?" She's glad to keep him talking, to let her get on with things so she won't think too much.

"My family took me to Brecon Beacons to go snowboarding. My parents, me, my sisters Amy and Miranda, and Miranda's fiancé Jay. For my birthday," he pauses when Isobel checks his pulse.

"Oh, that's right, it was last week. Wasn't it?" she asks, hoping to sound nonchalant. "That sounds fun."

 _You know when his birthday is._

"It's the seventeenth," he nods.

"So next year will be your golden birthday. How will you ever top your sixteenth?" Trying to joke to put him more at ease, she smiles. They make eye contact. He blushes even more, his face crimson. To her horror, she feels her own face getting warm. She checks his reflexes, hoping he doesn't notice her expression.

"I-I don't know," he finally stutters, sliding off the table and picking up his bag. "H-how did you know I'm sixteen?"

"It's on your file," she says, quiet. She reaches for papers on her desk, something for her hands to hold. "Your birthdate…"

"Oh," he looks as though he will melt into the floor. "Right." He turns and opens the door.

"You passed your physical, Mr. Clarkson," she clears her throat. "I hope the cricket team does well this year."

"Thank you, Nurse Crawley," he vanishes into the hallway before the words are out of his mouth.

She dashes into the toilet next door and washes her hands, relishing the cold water. For good measure, she splashes her face, too.

 _This is getting out of hand._

She's seen him every day since she arrived at Downton. Just another student. A good-looking one, yes, but that doesn't matter ( _it shouldn't matter_ ). Lots of students are handsome. Or pretty.

But he – Richard - is different.

He is a prefect, known for his kindness toward others. Even towards students who don't like _anyone_. Many students his age struggle with thinking about the next term approaching, much less five years down the road. He is not one of them. She knows he has an ambition to be a doctor. He has asked her about it before, surprising her by citing her own father's work.

For once, she is glad Violet insist the faculty address the students as Mister or Miss, with their surnames. She thought it ridiculously old-fashioned when she arrived. But right now she knows it keeps her from feeling more familiar towards _one_ certain student than she already does.

She sits back down, trying to concentrate on her work. Putting in her earbuds again, the music continues from where she had stopped it.

 _It was like shooting a sitting duck_

 _A little small talk, a smile and baby, I was stuck_

 _I still don't know what you've done with me_

 _A grown up woman should never fall so easily…_

Groaning, she covers her face with her hands. She is being utterly ridiculous, she knows she is! He cares nothing for her, who knows why he was blushing? There could be any number of reasons.

He could be stressing over a girl.

 _I've had a few little love affairs_

 _They didn't last very long and they've been pretty scarce_

 _I used to think I was sensible_

 _It makes the truth even more incomprehensible_

' _Cause everything is new_

 _And everything is you…_

She thinks of Richard blushing when she looked at him, and of her own reaction. Shaking her head, she forces him from her mind.

When Charles Carson arrives for his physical, she barely says a word to him. But the broad-shouldered boy is not known to say a lot himself, so the lack of conversation is not unusual. She is grateful for his shyness.

* * *

He feels less like he is leaving the nurse's office than he is escaping. Walking quickly down a corridor, he stumbles, tripping over his own feet. Checking the time, he goes into the boys' toilet. He turns the tap on one of the sinks. Splashes his face.

 _Stupid, stupid,_ _stupid_ _! Can't even have a damned conversation without falling apart – 'how do you know I'm sixteen?' She must think you're an idiot!_

He bows his head over the sink, rests his forehead on the cold porcelain. It feels good against his face.

"Forget her," he says to his reflection in the mirror. "She'd never go for you, she's completely the wrong age. What, do you expect her to _wait_ for you until you're finished with your education? She'll likely be long married by then, have a couple of bairns of her own. Ach," he pinches his nose, takes a few deep breaths.

If only he _could_ forget her.

Nurse Crawley is a favorite among the students. She keeps her head in every situation, and is unfailingly kind to everyone. She's strict, but fair. He's heard from more than one person that she sometimes gets the headmistress to be a bit more lenient.

He tries to get through the rest of the day without thinking about her. As much.

In bed that night he doesn't know whether to be angry or happy when Charles keeps talking about the cricket team. He usually joins in with enthusiasm, but the team is the last thing on his mind. His friend finally takes the hint and says good night, turning off the light.

 _If he wasn't talking about cricket, he'd be talking about Alice._

 _He could do so much better than her._

 _She's a lost cause anyway._

 _Like a certain nurse you keep dreaming about._

"Recurring dream," he mutters, turning over on his side. "But I always wake up." Charles snores on the other side of the room.

The nurse's brown hair, and those luscious eyes. And her smile! He's heard her laugh a few times, too. Once in the corridor he caused a collision because he'd stopped to listen. It is a beautiful sound.

He sighs, and punches his pillow. Closing his eyes, he sees her walking down a corridor, always with a purpose. Her dark eyes soft.

"Isobel," he murmurs.

* * *

That night in her bedroom she picks up a picture that sits on her side table and studies the familiar smiling man.

 _Reginald._

She has been alone too long. That's what her brother Edward would say. Probably Mother, too. Compared to her friends, she's already had a turbulent love life.

 _She and Reginald Crawley were friends from the moment they met at grammar school. They never had any doubt that they would be married and live a long life together, after finishing university and both becoming doctors. They adored each other._

 _He understood her independent spirit like no one ever had._

 _But in their last year at school, he went to his GP thinking he had the flu. Instead it was stage four leukemia. The doctor gave him six months at most to live._

 _How she got through the next year and a half, juggling university, a part-time job and helping care for Reggie she still didn't know. She switched to nursing since she was doing so much of it._

 _They married after he had finished the first round of chemotherapy. None of their parents objected, despite their age. Two months of happiness, which included a week-long trip to Greece, was the only time Isobel had felt like a true partner rather than a nurse._

 _Reggie kept his spirits up, and hers as well, even as he was dying. He encouraged her to live her life._

" _You have your whole life ahead of you, Izzy," he said one evening near the end, his hand in hers. "If someone strikes your fancy, don't be afraid to let him know. If_ _you_ _like him, he's got to be someone special." He grinned. Even in his sunken eyes there was still a spark. "He'd better treat you well, or I'll have no choice but to haunt him."_

Five years have passed. Five years since she's seen his smiling face, heard his voice. She misses him. A part of her will always miss him, but in the last year or so she's felt a shift inside.

She has let him go.

Now it is time to see what life holds.

She's had chances at love. Her family, friends, even some of the faculty at Downton have set her up on dates, or suggested single relatives. No one has stuck.

Sighing, she sets Reggie's picture back. "If only it were so easy," she tells him. "I can hardly tell him how I feel, when I hardly know myself. Oh, all right," she shakes her head. "I like him. But I can't _tell_ him, you know that! There's the not-insignificant fact that he is a student. And under eighteen." She suddenly laughs. "You'd tease me and tell me I'm robbing the cradle, I'm sure."

She switches off the light and gets into bed. In the darkness, she thinks of white-gold hair and brilliant blue eyes.

"Richard," she whispers.

* * *

 _ **One year previously**_

He walks swiftly down the lane to Downton. Hardly anyone is about this morning. Many students are still recovering from the Valentine's Day dance the night before.

Safe inside his coat is a single red rose.

Coming in the main doors, he is delighted to find the corridors almost empty. He unzips his coat a little to check on the precious gift he bought this morning. A florist in the village was delighted to sell roses at half-price. He had taken his time and picked the nicest one he could find.

He doesn't see Phyllis Baxter and Elsie Hughes. They are yawning, still exhausted from the dance, but the younger girl is talking excitedly to her friend about what happened the night before with the Head Boy, ignoring her own exhaustion.

Richard doesn't see them stop in a corridor, watching him admire the rose.

No one sees him tie it to the nurse's office chair.

* * *

She knows he left the rose.

She knows it makes no sense that she knows this.

But she _knows._

Of course in two years, they have said nothing to each other, scarcely spent any time in the same room, and never been alone. Before the previous two cricket seasons, she had the entire team line up outside the infirmary and she had conducted physicals with her door open, one student after the other.

But their lack of contact has not been total.

When the fifth year boy Spratt had an epileptic seizure, Richard had stayed by his side even after she'd gotten to the main hall to stabilize him. They both had walked to the front doors where the ambulance stood waiting. It was only then that the brave prefect had turned back. She, being the nurse, went with Spratt to the hospital.

She is unbelievably proud of Richard. Of the man he has become.

And he is a man now, in law.

Whether she has the courage to say anything to him directly after graduation is something she asks herself nearly every night from February until the summer.

* * *

 _ **Why do I keep running from the truth?**_

 _ **All I ever think about is you**_

 _ **You got me hypnotized, so mesmerized**_

 _ **And I just got to know…**_

 _ **-David Archuleta, "Crush"**_

* * *

 _ **Seven months previously**_

He wakes before his alarm goes off on the morning of graduation. Sitting up, he looks around his almost-bare room.

His belly churns. From excitement, from anticipation of the day's events, from the thought of saying goodbye to Downton, to his good friends.

From nerves.

 _What will you say to her?_

" _Hello, Nurse Crawley. May I call you Isobel? I've been in love with you for three years…"_

His greatest fear is that he and his family will leave without him getting a chance to speak with her.

Leaving after the ceremony without a private word is not an option. He is bound and determined to say… _something_ of what he feels. Regardless of what she thinks.

His heart aches thinking of what might happen if she lets him down gently. Which she likely will, since for her to actually feel anything towards him is impossible.

"Oh, enough," he grumbles to himself, swinging his legs off the bed. He's planning on visiting the toilet, then the showers, but forgets about both when he opens his door.

A small vase sits on the wooden floor. Inside is a white carnation. Tied to the bright flower is a tiny cardboard note.

 _I'll wait._

He has to read it several times for it to sink in. Five times, ten times, until the two words take up his entire brain.

 _I'll wait._

And then he wonders if his instinct is wrong, if it isn't Isobel Crawley who left the flower and the note, but someone else who did.

Is it a prank? Or from a younger student?

There is one way to find out.

He opens his suitcase, digging for the scrapbook of pictures his sisters had had made for him on Shutterfly. He'd taken it around to all his teachers, his friends, all the staff to sign over the last week. Including her.

He flips the pages, going past notes from some friends scrawled over pictures, short silly messages, a long personal note from his Biology professor, a shorter, kind one from the Headmistress.

In the corner of a page near the end, there is a short note from the nurse. The picture is of Downton, taken by him near sunset the previous year. He reads again what she wrote.

 _Many congratulations on your success and your achievements. I know you will accomplish all that you set out to do. Bravo! ~I. Crawley_

He had forgotten she had put the initial of her first name. But that doesn't matter.

What does is that her handwriting matches the two word note he's received this morning.

Lifting the note to his lips, he kisses it.

* * *

Somehow they find themselves alone.

 _Alone_.

Outside near the gardens tended by students and professionals alike for generations, on a bench under a clump of trees.

He'd left his family with the excuse of finding some friends he'd yet to say farewell to. He'd gone back inside, circled the main areas where flocks of students, parents, siblings, faculty and alumni congregated, then gone out again.

He would have tried the roof, but he has a niggling feeling Charles Carson is up there.

And wherever the recently-graduated Head Boy is, Richard knows, Elsie Hughes is nearby.

There is a certain comfort knowing his friend has someone who fits into his life so well. It's been only a few months, and he can scarcely remember Charles _without_ Elsie.

Now he sits on a bench only feet away from Nur- _Isobel_. Her hair is lighter in the sun.

His tongue feels heavy. Words completely fail him, and he silently curses himself for wasting this last chance, this opportunity that will not come again.

 _I'll wait._

"What did you mean?" he asks, the words stumbling out, sounding harsher than he intended. "In your note?"

She has been looking out at the lawn, but she turns right away to meet his eyes.

"I meant what I said," she says calmly. He wonders at her demeanor. _How can she be so calm?_ "I said I will wait. That means I will."

"Wait on what?" he asks, somehow feeling more unsettled at her poise.

She understands why he is so direct. She can feel the tension pouring off him. Her own nerves are frayed, and she hopes she can keep herself together. For at least as long as it takes for them to be honest with each other.

 _Now you'll know if he feels anything for you, or if you've been a fool._

She does not want to think about how badly it will hurt if she has been.

"On you." She keeps it as simple as possible. Really, in the grand scheme of things, it isn't complicated. "I think you'll agree we're friends at the very least." _The absolute least._ "I hope you'll forgive me for being forward, but I've wondered if we could be more than that. More than friends. If you feel the same, I wanted you to know I won't forget about you while you're at Edinburgh."

She fights to keep her voice level, to not rush the words out. To make sure he hears her. The words she says as well as the ones she doesn't.

 _This is me. The real me. The last few years, the most you've seen is only a glimpse, for reasons I know you understand. Today is the first day I can be open with you._

For the first time, he hears her.

He sits on the bench, not able, not wanting to take his eyes from hers. She isn't flirting with him. Or toying with his emotions.

That's not her way.

She simply watches him, simply _is_ , and her sincere gaze makes his heart tremble. At the same time, it is as though fireworks have been set off in his chest.

"I…yes," he stutters out. "Yes," he repeats, a smile breaking on his face like the dawn. A blush blooms on her face, but she doesn't look away. "We _are_ friends. And…if you are willing, I would like to be more than that." He shakes his head. "I could never forget you. No matter where I go."

She takes a sharp intake of breath and looks away, and for a moment, he thinks he's said too much. And then he sees the tears shimmering in her eyes, the sheer _relief_ there, and he almost feels like crying himself.

The feelings are overwhelming, but he's said exactly what he wanted to say, what he needed to say. What she needed to hear.

And what, he thinks in wonder, what she _wanted_ to hear.

They sit awkwardly on the bench as she composes herself. He's not sure what to do or say. Comfort her? Reach for her hand? It's right there. Kiss her?

 _You want to._

"Let's go for a walk," she says, saving him. She gets up and he does as well. "It's much too nice to sit."

"Besides," he falls into step beside her, his gown billowing behind him in the breeze, "someone else might want to sit there."

They walk along a path that leads around the cricket pitch, then through a narrow stretch of woods, talking about Richard's plans for the summer. His sister and brother-in-law are moving from Leicester to Newcastle, and he's going to help them.

"What about you?" he asks. "I expect you'll see your family. Travel."

"Yes," she glances at him. "Two weeks in Manchester after I leave here, and several days in early August with some girlfriends from university, in Spain."

They talk of the graduation ceremony, the students who are leaving, their future plans.

She has always enjoyed graduations, including her own from school and from university. They have always struck her as beginnings in people's lives, ceremonies to look forward to, rather than ones to dread. There's a bit of sadness, yes, at the closing of an old chapter, but the world moves on.

Somewhere in the woods, with the trees leafed in green around them, their hands brush against each other. Whether he slips his fingers through hers, or she presses her palm to his, is irrelevant.

Neither of them let go.

It feels effortless. Comfortable.

Like the silence as they continue rambling through the woods.

In the distance, she hears laughter on the cricket pitch. High spirits in the bright sunshine. Her own personal happiness, like her, is rather private. But its effects are no less potent.

She knows well that if they run into Violet her cousin will know instantly what's going on, just by looking at her face.

 _She'd say, "At least_ _try_ _to keep your feelings contained. You're hardly an American."_

"You look beautiful," he says, bringing them to a stop. He looks at her as if she's the only person on the planet. "Not just today, but every day. Anyone who can't see it is blind. You are a real beauty, Isobel."

She really cannot say which feels better – the fluttering of her heart when he says her name, or the touch of his lips on her hand.

Or both. His ice-blue eyes gaze into hers as they stand still in the middle of the path, their hands intertwined.

Before she can lose her courage, she leans forward and kisses him.

It happens so fast. During their walk, all he can think of is how beautiful she is, and if she knows it. When he tells her she's beautiful, her expression reveals doubt. So he kisses her hand.

Then she leans toward him and he knows they're going to kiss, and he remembers at the last second to close his eyes (though he doesn't know why he should, or even if he wants to), then he forgets everything, everything, everything, except for the feel of her lips on his, how soft they are, how he can smell her perfume.

She leans back and the color rises in her face.

"Why," he begins before swallowing, "why did you do that?" He's not sorry in the least she did. If anything, he wishes _he_ would have initiated it.

As ever, she is honest with him. "I've waited a long time to do that," she says quietly. "I saw no point in waiting any longer."

* * *

They meet several times in the summer. The longest time they spend together is when she meets him in Newcastle. He introduces her to his sister Miranda and brother-in-law Jay as a "friend", but they seem to see through it.

While Richard and Jay wrestle with the sofa, then the heavy wardrobe, Isobel carries boxes inside, letting Miranda tell her where they need to go.

"I don't know why my brother feels the need to hide your relationship," Richard's sister sighs, running a hand through hair every bit as blonde as his. "It's not like either of you did anything inappropriate while he was at Downton." She smiles. "And if my parents raise their eyebrows over your age, well, I'll just remind them that I was born the same year as you were."

Isobel feels grateful for the support. All the more because the reaction from their families is not positive.

Richard's other sister Amy is welcoming, but as she's getting over a bad break-up, she is not very optimistic over their chances. "I _hope_ everything goes well," she tells him, "She seems nice. But you never know what might happen."

His parents are absolutely shocked. His father thinks he's joking, and when Richard makes it clear he isn't, the older man retreats into a sullen silence. His mother is convinced Isobel made advances towards him at school, despite his angry protests. She finally apologizes to him just before he leaves to begin at Edinburgh.

Isobel fares little better with her family.

Her parents are not as outwardly disapproving as the Clarksons, but she can tell they aren't comfortable with it. She hopes that as time goes on, that will change.

Edward just tells her to "be careful", and she knows her brother doesn't trust that Richard will stay with her because of his age. She knows he doesn't want her to get hurt, but it frustrates her that this is part of life, the uncertainty of it. Not knowing what's coming around the bend.

What is certain is that she and Richard's relationship is going from strength to strength. Despite their physical separation once term begins, they continue to grow closer to each other.

She listens as he talks at night about university, about being back in the historic city where he was born. He struggles a little with the party atmosphere, the temptation to go out every night. She doesn't shy away from expressing her opinion, but respects his boundaries when she can tell he doesn't feel like talking about it.

It is a new experience for her to have someone outside her family concerned about her welfare. She comes down with a cold in September, and is pleasantly surprised when he sends a care package – canned soup, chocolate, a University of Edinburgh sweatshirt (which swallows her, but she doesn't mind), whisky, a couple of 'chick flick' DVDs. "Watch those without me," he laughs on FaceTime the next night.

And, of course, he also sends her several red roses.

Making friends with Elsie also helps. The younger girl is steady, despite her habit of getting into trouble (which is a habit she seems to be breaking) and has a sympathetic ear. Isobel can trust her completely. Elsie brings emotional support as well, though for a while she doesn't know it. Neither Richard's parents nor Isobel's have changed their views of their children's relationship.

Their objections are hard to swallow.

On autumn break, she comes to Edinburgh for two days. They are over the moon to be together. It is easier away from their families and from Downton to be together without awkwardness.

They can just be a regular couple.

She stays in the flat where he lives with two other students. Richard gives up his bed for her and sleeps on the floor.

He had thought about them sharing a bed. More often than he would ever admit to her, though he is sure she knows. They have a necessary conversation one morning at breakfast while his flatmates sleep off the previous evening's excesses.

"I'm not a virgin," she says baldly, pouring milk into her tea. "You know that. But Reggie and I-well, it wasn't a typical marriage, him being so ill. Sex didn't happen often. But there's been no one since."

"I just don't think we've been together long enough." He grabs the toast after it pops up and starts spreading jam on it. He hesitates, then plunges forward. "And honestly – it makes me nervous that you've had experience, and I haven't."

"'Experience'?" She takes a piece of toast and bites into it. "This isn't a pain scale where I'm at a four and you're at zero." Swallowing her toast, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek when he sits down next to her. "I'm not worried. Please don't think I'll _rate_ you, or some such stupidity."

He knows she won't. He just wishes he didn't feel so bloody immature next to her.

"Richard," she puts a hand on his shoulder. "I don't care, really, I don't. Let's just let it happen naturally." Rubbing his back affectionately, she grins. "The last thing I want is for you to stress about it."

That does make him laugh.

Outside the train station the next day, she almost wishes she'd been a little bolder. He pulls her flush against him, their bodies pressed together, his gentle hands sliding down her back, his hot mouth tasting her.

She gets on the train, her eyes bright, her face aflame.

Back home, she dreams of his touch.

She cannot remember ever feeling like this. She is so used to being a certain role around others – a daughter, sister, cousin, or friend. A nurse.

With Richard, she is a woman.

The way he smiles at her, his head dipped just a little so it's like he's looking up at her. Her name on his lips. The endearment he has just for her – calling her 'Bel'.

He travels south after Christmas, ostensibly to see Charles. He does, but he doesn't go back to Scotland before seeing Isobel.

He's beyond grateful for his friend and his friend's family. Mr. Clarkson actually rings the Carsons while Richard's visiting his girlfriend and asks if he's there.

"Mum told him _of course_ you were here. Then, when he didn't believe her, Dad got on the phone and told him that we'd had just a touch too much of the whisky, and were rather ill."

"I never wanted to lie to them. Or to have anyone lie _for_ me," Richard says, his hands on his face, his elbows on the kitchen table. Charles thumps him on the back.

"Mum and Dad both think they'll come around. Eventually," Charles sighs, stretching. "It's one thing to help out a friend of mine. I don't know how they'd react if I were you."

"I can't thank them enough." Richard leans back in his chair and grins at him. "I'm sure you'd much rather have another Scot here causing trouble, instead of me."

A smile that can only be described as mushy covers Charles's face. Richard knows better than to point this out – if he did, it's likely his old friend would just laugh and say he looks the same when he talks about Isobel.

"She'll be here tomorrow after you leave. She's sorry to miss you."

"I'm sorry as well," Richard says sincerely. Elsie has become one of his girlfriend's best friends. "Someday, I'd love to have the four of us spend time together. That'd be fun, don't you think?"

"It depends on the definition of fun," Charles groans as they go back into the den. "Something tells me Elsie and Isobel would decide what to do, and we'd go along with whatever they said."

"You're probably right."

* * *

 _ **Present day**_

His flatmates and several other friends give him a birthday dinner early, which is nice. The actual day is on Friday later that week.

It finds him alone. He knows Kemal and Jake had planned a skiing weekend away for ages, but he still feels rather forlorn. A dark, gloomy evening in February looms with nothing to look forward to.

He's so bored he cleans the flat, using the excuse of the others being gone.

He's already gotten birthday wishes from his parents, who seem to be finally coming around in regards to Isobel. Da actually asks how she is and if she's well, which is a major step forward. Miranda and Amy call as well. He thanks them all for their cards and gifts. He decides after hanging up with Amy to brave the bleakness outside, and go get some horribly greasy takeaway.

That, a couple of beers, and a _long_ FaceTime chat with a certain beautiful woman will salvage his birthday, he thinks.

The fish and chips are still freakishly hot when he gets back, shivering from the outside air. While he waits for it to cool, he cracks open his first beer (a brown ale) and downs half of it in one go.

Someone knocks on the door.

Isobel.

"Happy Birthday," she beams at him, the snow still fresh on her coat. "Did you _really_ think you'd be alone over the weekend? It's half-term at Downton. I thought I'd keep you company."

He has never seen anything so beautiful.

Yanking her into the flat, he kisses her until she gasps for breath.

"I love you," he says, his arms around her waist, their foreheads together.

"I think I'm getting an inkling of that." Laughing, she kisses him before giving him a long hug. "I love you too, you know."

"I think I _do_ know," he teases, helping her out of her coat and hanging it up. While she gets her suitcase from the corridor and brings it in, he grabs another beer and glass and pours her a drink.

"Hmmm, thank you," she takes a long drink. "What's this?" she cries, glancing at the full coffee table. "Fish and chips? Oh dear, you were anticipating a lonely night!"

"I'm sorry I don't have anything better." He feels badly he didn't go to the store.

She sits down on the sofa next to him. "Rubbish, you didn't know I was coming. And it's _your_ birthday. You should have what _you_ want." She pours vinegar on the chips.

As they eat, she comments on the flat. "Was it this clean when you moved in?"

"Hardly," he burns his fingers on another piece of fish. "But the others went to Austria for the weekend, and I had nothing to do, so I cleaned. Better to do it when no one else is home."

"Mmm. Did the girls go with them?"

"Andrea went with Jake. Kemal broke up with Regina last month-"

"I should have known," she rolls her eyes. "Your friend never dates a woman longer than a month, if he can help it. Who's his latest, then?"

Richard drinks more of his beer. "His name's Eric. I've only met him once so far."

The only sign that shows Isobel's surprise is that she blinks several more times. "That's new. Has he ever dated men before?"

"Yes, apparently. Last year there were a couple."

"Men, women, does it matter? I've never seen such an incorrigible flirt as Mr. Pamuk," she says, bending over to pick up another napkin. "If he had the chance, he'd try to seduce cousin Violet!"

He snorts his beer up his nose at the mental picture. "Don't… _do_ …that," he coughs, wiping tears from his eyes. "Seducing Violet… _damnit_ , Bel."

Laughing, she gets up and lifts a little box out of a bag she's brought in. "You're not really choking, are you? It would be too bad if you couldn't have dessert." She carefully unwraps the box. Inside is a small chocolate cake, with mint frosting on top. His favorite.

"I'm not now, no," he coughs one last time. " _Thank_ you for this!"

"And I've got a candle as well," she sets it in the middle of the cake and rummages in the kitchen for matches.

"Where did you get this?" he asks, admiring the cake. It looks handmade, not something bought.

She strikes a match and lights the candle. "Well, I'm not the one to thank for it. Beryl Patmore's back in Yorkshire visiting friends, and when she heard I'd be seeing you on your birthday, she came up to school this morning and made this for you."

"She did? That's nice of her," he smiles, thinking of the redhead who graduated with him. Charles is closer friends with her, and Elsie, but he always got on well with her. "I'd better make a wish and blow the candle out so we can eat this."

It occurs to him as he watches the dancing flame that he already has everything he could wish for sitting next to him. Still, he closes his eyes and makes a wish.

* * *

The boxes, rubbish from the takeaway, and beer bottles are thrown away. Images flicker on the TV in the corner. No one watches it.

Richard sits on the sofa, Isobel in his lap. He moans as she moves, her legs wrapped around him. His hands slip from her thighs to her bum, making her gasp. He breaks their kiss only to help her remove her jumper, and tosses it aside.

Without a word, she leans forward, her arms pulling his head towards her as she sits up.

He opens his mouth and sucks on the soft skin, the curve of her breasts. A whimper in the back of her throat is followed by another, then by gasps as he presses his hands against the small of her back. Bringing her closer.

Even with both of them wearing jeans, she feels his erection.

She doesn't ask if he's sure, or questions her own wishes. They have both waited for this for long enough.

"Beauty, my beauty," he whispers, his voice ragged, his hot breath in the hollow of her breasts, "You said I should have what I want on my birthday." He lifts his head and kisses her hard on the mouth. "I want you." Tracing a line from her mouth along her jawline to the throbbing pulse on her neck, he nips the soft skin with his teeth. "I want only _you_ , Isobel." He reaches up and undoes the clasp in her hair, setting it free.

She adores it when he says her name.

"Bed," she breathes, her chest heaving, her fingers in his hair. She's never felt so warm. She gets up reluctantly from his lap and lets him lead her by the hand to his bedroom.

He has a double bed.

Falling backwards onto it, she reaches her arms up for him. She expects him to climb on top of her, to continue their frenzied kissing that has left their lips swollen.

But he does not.

Instead, he leans forward over her, his knees against the mattress, and presses open-mouthed kisses on her belly. When he reaches the waistline of her jeans, he pauses only to undo the button and unzip them. She raises her head as he pulls them off and drops them on the floor.

Her mouth falls open when he yanks off his t-shirt.

Not because she doesn't expect him to undress as well (that is the natural next step), or because for the first time she admires his muscular torso, the light hairs on his chest barely reflected in the lamplight (although she does that too), but because of his eyes.

They hold both heat, as well as awe. Like liquid fire, she thinks. She watches him stare at her for several seconds.

 _You are beautiful,_ his eyes say. _You are a beauty, and you are mine._

"Are you going to stand there?" she whispers, lifting herself up on her elbows. "Richard-"

He bends over her again, catching her wrists, pinning them to her sides. Continuing where he left, his hot mouth kisses and sucks at her abdomen, his tongue swirling near her hip. She lets out a moan that sounds loud to her, but she doesn't care. His mouth, his lips, his tongue – the heat of his bare body against hers, causes the most intense rush she can ever remember.

Muscles relax, and there is a gush of warmth between her legs.

He tells himself to go slow, do what _she_ wants. He's still a virgin (not for long), but he's not an idiot. But when she moans, rolling her hips forward, it is _damn_ difficult to remember how to do anything.

His mind is in such a haze it takes him several moments to remove his jeans. In the meantime, she crawls backwards and pulls down the covers on the bed. When he joins her, they meet in the middle, kissing feverishly, their legs around each other.

He curses slightly, his fingers shaking, as he tries to unclip her bra. She laughs a little throatily at his frustration, her hands massaging his back. When he gets it undone, he removes it from her arms reverently.

Before leaning forward to kiss her once more, his tongue teasing her lips open, his hands on her shoulders. Getting her to lay down. She feels the fitted sheet beneath her back. He moves the pillow a little, so it's under her head fully instead of halfway off the bed.

She thinks _how considerate he is, even now_ -

His tongue at her neck, his lips marking her, and then he cups her breasts in his hands and draws one into his mouth, then the other, sucking, pulling, his teeth at her nipples, and an animal-like groan, loud and thoroughly indecent, erupts from her mouth.

Still, he does not stop.

His mouth kissing, lavishing her body. His warm hands on her stomach, on her hips, under her thighs. His touch arouses her to the point she pushes her hips up, trying to get closer. Needing him. _Wanting_ him.

Her underwear and his boxers are forgotten on the floor. She hisses, pulling at his hair (he needs a haircut, but right now she is glad it's a little long), loving his mouth on the inside of her thigh, but wanting more of him than what she can feel. And then his mouth, his tongue are at her sex and he is kissing her slowly, his lips at her folds.

She arches back, her arms above her head. "Richard," she pleads, half-crying from arousal, "Richard, _yes,_ oh _god_ -" She babbles on, a rush of pleading, chanting his name.

The smell of her is everywhere and he drinks it in, drinks her in, his heart exploding at her reactions. He lifts his head only slightly, stopping his ministrations.

She moans at the lack of contact. And – what is he doing? Talking to her?

"What do you want, Bel? What do you want, my beauty?"

"I want-I, I want-Richard, _please_ ," she begs.

"Say it," his burr washes over her. She lifts her head and looks directly into his eyes.

"I want you," she gasps, "I want _you_ , Richard Clarkson-"

It is everything, everything to him to hear her say it. He lowers his head and lavishes her folds, her wet heat. He finds her nub entirely by accident (though he never intends to tell her) and she screams. He's never seen a woman reach her pleasure.

And it is _his_ woman, his Isobel, the woman of his dreams, the woman he could only dream about for so long who keens, moans, sobs her release. He's a little worried that he's hurt her. After a little while when she's got her breath back, he asks her.

"No," she pants, still coming down from her high. "No, you would never hurt me."

She kisses him hard, pulling him on top of her. His own pleasure, set aside while he gave her hers, is at the point of no return.

"Bel," he gasps, I _want_ you."

"Yes," she has her hands on his hips as he straddles her. He takes himself in hand, letting out a guttural moan when her hand joins his. "Yes, here, I want you _here_ -" she gasps as he enters her.

She is already so ready for him, and he is so far gone that he comes immediately. He thrusts once, then several times more, shouting.

It feels so strange, like an out-of-body experience, and yet he's inside her. Complete. Whole. She whispers her love, touches his face. He can't find the breath or the words to say what he feels, so he kisses her again and again, his hips still rolling forward to meet hers. To be as close as he can to her.

He trembles for a long time afterward, and she holds him inside her as he rests his head against hers.

Later, after they have rested, they make love again until both of them are satisfied. Condensation pools on the window while Edinburgh freezes outside.

* * *

The next morning around nine, he slips out of bed and dresses himself, careful not to disturb her. He goes out into the cold, not feeling any of it, and buys necessities.

She wakes to find herself alone in the bed. But the smells coming from the kitchen let her know her lover is near. She stretches, still sleepy, feeling her body aching from the previous night's pleasure.

"Good morning." Richard comes in carrying a tray. He sets it down on his desk then half-climbs onto the bed to give her a lingering kiss. "Are you hungry?"

Her stomach growls in response and they both laugh. "Thank you, yes," she says. She grabs the nearest scrap of clothing, the Edinburgh sweatshirt he gave her, and pulls it on.

"Why did you put that on?" he asks, joking, setting the tray down on the bed. "It's not every day I come into my room and a naked woman is in my bed."

She looks absolutely ravishing. Her dark hair in a tangle, over one shoulder. Her lips still swollen. And if he weren't so hungry as well, _she_ would be the meal.

Picking up a piece of toast, Isobel raises her eyebrows. "Oh? How often _do_ you find a naked woman in here?"

"Every other day."

Her brown eyes twinkle at him while they eat. Tea, eggs, bacon, fruit, toast. She brushes errant crumbs off the bed at one point, and he thinks how _normal_ it is. Just sitting together late on a Saturday morning, half-dressed (well, he's dressed, but he hasn't showered yet), eating breakfast. He listens while she talks about going out later, things to do while she's here.

He thinks about her returning to Downton at the end of the weekend, and him continuing his course at the university, and his heart aches. It is what it is. Their lives are on a set pattern that they can't change, but they can have these days together, these few moments. And for now, that will have to be enough.

Except he wants more. And, he hopes, so does she.

 _I am nineteen years old._

"What are you thinking?" she asks, smiling. He swallows the rest of his bacon, feeling it in his throat.

"It's nothing," he forces a grin and looks down at the bedspread.

"I think we're past not telling each other things, don't you?" she lifts the tray onto the bedside table, making sure it won't fall.

He links his fingers through hers. "Yes." He fights with himself over how much to say. Knowing her, he has to say _something_. And if her thoughts were preoccupied, he would want to know them as well. His heart pounds.

"You'll think I'm crazy," he runs his other hand through his hair. He needs to get it cut. "Or say I've just started university, and should only be concentrating on my studies."

"I'm not your mother," she says, her voice dry. "I know you're an excellent student - I hardly need to tell you anything about that. And you're not crazy. I think I'd know it if you were." She gives him a warm smile. There is a vulnerability there, more apparent in the light of day. It makes him think that she too has opened herself, let her heart be exposed.

After all she has gone through, that has taken courage.

"I love you," she reaches out and touches his face. Her breath hitches a little. "More than anyone."

He pauses, remembering the night before. His birthday. Making a wish. "I love you too," he says quietly, his heart feeling squeezed inside him. "I've always loved you."

"I know," she whispers. She wipes a tear from her cheek.

It is her strength that emboldens him. Even if she doesn't agree, he has to try.

He slides off the bed, keeping hold of her hand, and gets down on one knee. "You said you would wait for me. But what if I don't want to wait anymore? Isobel," he meets her eyes, "will you marry me?"


End file.
